


Playing God

by never_wanted_to_dance



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Archangel Angst, Hurt Castiel, M/M, Michael!Dean, Season/Series 13, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-09 04:09:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16442717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/never_wanted_to_dance/pseuds/never_wanted_to_dance
Summary: Castiel reacts to the news of Dean's possession by the Archangel Michael.





	Playing God

_Because it has to be so lonely_ _  
To be the only one who_ 's _holy_

_._

 

Horror.

That had definitely been the first, overwhelming emotion that crashed over Castiel’s body like an unruly wave, seeping into the very cracks of his bones. The visceral coldness of it was unfortunately, all too familiar when it came to the actions of a certain Dean Winchester, but it was no less unwelcome for the fact.

It had been three hours now since they’d left. Three hours since Dean had done what they’d fought so hard against all those years ago. Three hours since –

No. Castiel gripped the steering wheel harder, glaring out at the pitch darkness ahead as the car picked up speed. The next emotion to creep in could not be grief. He wouldn’t allow that, not yet. One hand groped blindly for the radio next to him, desperate to silence the pounding in his ears with inane human noise.

“... and tonight our lead story, some unusual reports of blinding light and strange noises at a Gas ‘n Sip just off of the highway, police are currently investigating and will not release any more information at this …”

The radio clicked back off without so much as a hand wave. Cas sped up.

There was no clear destination in mind at the moment, Cas had been sure to tell Mary and Bobby so before rushing out, a perfect portrait of composure until he’d reached the oppressive emptiness of the garage. Michael was always impossible to predict, and apocalypse world Michael even more so – there was no telling where he’d take Dean’s body first, or what he’d so once he got there. There would be time soon enough for investigating, for gathering, for fighting back – they were all good at that, they’d do well. Jack would need support, Cas could help with that. Sam would need someone to lean on, Mary would need a confidant. Cas could be all things to all people when they needed him to.

Except, as it turned out, Dean’s protector. Dean’s saviour. His guardian angel, the one who gave up everything for – well, for what, now? _Did you always know that I wouldn’t be able to help you, in the end?_

The countryside tore past at an alarming rate now, rain beginning to streak sideways down the windows of the dark vehicle. He wasn’t even sure what state he was in now, Cas realised, slowing briefly and peering out through the gloom to try and read an upcoming road sign. It was easily 2am by now, although the clock in this car had long since stopped working. It had been one of Dean’s pet projects, a semi-junker that needed some love and attention on his days off. It was running fantastically, but the cosmetic details weren’t quite smoothed out yet, and some non-essential bits were missing. It had been the first set of keys Cas had managed to grab on his way out.

Cas swerved violently onto an upcoming side road, following a sign for a nearby motel. He slowed consciously at he pulled up to the parking lot, but still screeched in with far too much aggression for the time of day. The engine clicked off with a whisper, and Cas sat for a moment in the neon yellow glow of the front-desk sign.

The more he tried to push it away, the more it crept back into his head, like the chorus of a particularly hated song. _Mourning_. He blinked back blurriness and leaned out of the driver side door with a ridiculously human nausea settling in the general area of his throat. The door swung shut on well-oiled hinges, lovingly replaced and recently cared for. Cas wanted to slam it hard enough to shatter the asphalt beneath his feet.

“Good evening, welcome to the High Springs Hotel, may I take…”

The bored, young girl behind the counter stopped short as her eyes drifted upwards and took in the sight before her. Her red lips snapped shut. “You want a room, man?”

Cas nodded mutely, holding out a wallet that he’d found in the car, which she waved away. “Pay when you leave, card machine is on the fritz. Just need some ID if you’ve got any.”

He rummaged in his pockets, coming up with a selection of badges. Cas flicked through them briefly and settled numbly on the CDC one, passing it over with a steady hand. She took it with raised eyebrows and was blessedly silent for the rest of the transaction. The clock behind her, however, ticked on, filling the room with unnecessary audible static.

Cas clicked into the room and made straight for the nearest bed, sitting down heavily. There was no need for it, of course – he wouldn’t be sleeping. The room was cheap and darkly decorated in greys and greens, with the kind of thin mattresses that Dean would have spent the entire night berating. His phone buzzed quietly in a pocket somewhere, thoroughly ignored as it had been all evening. Nobody had anything to say that Cas could cope with hearing right now. _Will you – he – sense that I’m thinking of you now?_

It was impossible not to. Dean was everywhere – in the smooth transmission of the car, in the pretty desk clerk of the shitty motel, in the annoying clunking of the broken-down air conditioner in the corner of the room. And yet, he was gone. Smothered by the one angel he’d always been designed to accommodate. The holy asshole that he’d spent years saying no to all those years ago, who now resided comfortably behind those green eyes like he owned them.

Cas felt his willingness to keep it together slowly breaking down, his thoughts as pervasive as the light shining through the thin curtains in the privacy of the room. _How could you do it? How?_ He felt his wings twitching uncomfortably, a constant reminder that his own brother was the cause of this. There had been many times in his existence when Cas had been ashamed to call himself an angel, but this was really up there with the best of them.

Nobody else could have stopped this, he’d said. The fate of the world at stake – but when was it ever not at stake, really? Somewhere in the stirrings of memory, Cas recalled a younger man who spat in the face of destiny and saw the world burn as a consequence of standing by. Dean knew all too well the results of saying ‘yes’ to angels – and of saying no to them.

It was necessary though, of course. Dean would never have done it in vain, and he never was precious about his own life in the face of saving others, but it was no excuse. It was too much though, to think about it in realistic terms. To think about the horrific righteousness that now possessed those limbs and looked out at the world from that face. _How could he now have your movements? Our memories? Your eyes?_

Grief crept over the room with the darkness, sinking deeply into the cheap carpet and staining the walls. It filled Cas to the brim, bubbling over into every dimension he had possession of, staining every thought he could summon up, drawing his body down into the bed until it felt like he could never leave. He wished, somewhere in the recesses of his mind, that he could feel blood pounding in his ears – the emotions without the bodily reactions were even more unsettling that if they had been appropriately accompanied. Castiel closed his eyes against the heat from it, giving in to the overwhelming reality of the situation for the first time. _I failed you. I couldn’t stop you. I’m so sorry._

The lights did not come on in the morning. The night receptionist was too afraid of her boss to admit to the handymen who turned up the next day that she had no idea how the wires of every room in the motel had ended up fried, blaming it on a non-existent power surge instead. She didn’t even consider chasing down the non-payment from the CDC official in room 8 who’d turned up at 3am with fire in his eyes. She knew better than that, on some primal level.

Cas was long gone by then anyway, speeding off towards mountains somewhere, emotions tied down safely in the back seat once again. He would search, and comfort, and organise and be who he needed to be once more, however much his soul screamed at him in pain. The messages would be answered, the miles would be covered, the demons would be interrogated until this was figured out.  Only one thought now flooded his haggard, beaten down mind as the sun rose though, violent fire over the distant hills: _I’m not giving up on you._


End file.
